The Echoes of Shadows

CHAPTER 5

For the better part of a minute, I'm breathing heavily at the thought of my childhood home being ripped apart for the sake of a recording studio. Even though I'm dressed in a too-small set of PJs I found stuffed in a bottom drawer in my room - Jarod still hasn't brought my luggage or called me back for that matter - and despite the fact I have pea green spot corrector dotted on various areas of my face, I shove my bare feet into a pair of my brother's oversized boots that I find in the foyer. Outside, I let the voices guide me. Damian is at the back of the house along with his entourage - no other rock stars or a bodyguard like he'd have in L.A., but two men in contractor shirts and a tall woman with dark eyes and black and blue hair. She's rapidly taking notes of everything being said on a tablet.

It's his assistant, Kylie.

I remember her well, and she must know who I am because when our eyes meet, she mouths a silent "Oh" just before breaking into a huge grin. I dart my eyes away from her before she succeeds in making me feel even more awkward. It won't take much for me to lose my nerve right now, and if it happens, I'd prefer to dig my foot halfway into Damian's ass first.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Steele?" I demand before he can completely spin around to face me. For a moment, he looks as shocked as Kylie to see me. His momentary silence gives me a chance to appreciate how good he looks in light blue wash jeans and a dark blue burnout t-shirt, how his eyes seem more green than brown today, how his muscles are so completely obvious even under the loose shirt.

I stop ogling a couple seconds after he regains his composure, granting me that smile that's likely dropped panties across the country. "You're still here," he says. His voice is a mixture of two things - surprise and relief - and I'm not sure I like either one.

"Why would I leave?"

"Hmm, let's see. Maybe because the judge said this place is - "

"It's not yet. So, like I said, what do you think you're doing out here?" I ask, squinting up at him. I squeeze the bridge of my nose as hard as possible without doing myself harm.

Damian opens his mouth as if he wants to say something but one of the contractors interrupts him.

"Mr. Steele, we have a limited amount of time because of other appointments this afternoon. . ." the contractor begins, but Damian shoots him a dark look. Holy hell, even grown, 250 pound men lose their confidence around this guy.

Damian nods to Kylie. "Finish up with these guys. I have . . . s**t to take care of."

Kylie types a few additional notes into her tablet and then ushers the two men off, talking up plans of renovations and additions and completely gutting Gram's house. She gives me an apologetic smile as she passes me, probably because she knows her boss and I are about to get into it, and the odds are out of my favor. How the hell can someone so pleasant work for someone so . . . Damian?

What a stupid question to ask yourself, Calloway, I think. He's gorgeous and talented, and you came all over his bed without even getting down to the actual deed.

Those type of thoughts - yeah, they're the ones that get me flustered and in trouble. "So I'm s**t?" I blurt out.

"You know exactly what I meant."

"You know you have some jumbo balls coming out here today. God, don't you have a soul? I don't care if you're the legal owner now or not - if my grandmother had heard you talking about tearing down walls and demolishing she would have been devastated." When he crosses his arms over his chest, I repeat the gesture, trying to ignore the dizzying feeling that he's slowly undressing me with his hazel eyes.

It's the same way he looked when we first met a couple years ago, on the set of one of his band's music videos. To this day, "All Over You" is my favorite Your Toxic Sequel song. Every time I listen to it, hear Damian rasping taboo promises, I think of how his eyes drunk me in on that video shoot.

"You're cherry red. And your n*****s are hard," he says. My already crossed arms automatically hug myself tighter. He chuckles then whispers, "Hearing about the stripper pole in the living room turned you on, huh?"

I gasp, because for some messed-up reason, I can't help picturing svelte women in G-strings grinding their asses against my grandmother's furniture. It's a ridiculous thought - even if he did install a pole, it's not like Gram's belongings would still be there. I'm still furious. "Are you f*****g with me?"

Before I realize what's happening, he moves forward, pulling my arms away from their protective position over my body and pressing me up against the wooden door behind me. His scent - a mixture of clean linen and sweat - fill my nostrils, makes all of my senses blur. He's close. So close I can feel the fabric of his jeans scratching my bare legs and his lips brushing my right temple. My breath is ragged and to my surprise, so is his.

"Do you really think I'm that classless to put a pole in my living room?" When he tilts my face up and I glare darkly at him, he grins. "On second thought, don't answer that."

"Why couldn't this have waited until after all this was over? Damian, my grandmother is almost eighty. If something had happened to her, if you had gotten her upset . . ." I inhale deeply, until my lungs are about to explode, and then exhale. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand up and runs it along my cheek. A shudder that's both agonizing and warm all at once ripples through my body. I squeeze my eyes together. Start a slow, mental count to ten.

My head is spinning so violently that I only make it to six.

"If something happens to my grandmother because of you, I will kill you," I say. There's a roughness to my voice that surprises me. When I open my eyes, I can tell he's shocked too.

"Funny, I would've taken you for the passive type, but then again" - he leans backward, letting me go and crosses his arms over his chest - "there was that little incident you're still so pissed off about. Guess you're not very passive, huh?"

"You asked me to let you handcuff me to your bed. And sorry, Steele, but I'm not some f*****g toy you can do with whatever you please."

Snorting, he wrinkles his nose. By the way he's skeptically looking at me, I know he's about to say something mocking. "Um, don't think that's exactly what I said. I told you I was going to handcuff you to my bed, and you refused. Actually, I'm pretty sure you would've started screaming if I hadn't asked you to leave."

"Get the f**k out."

His eyes narrow. "This is my house, Elena. And technically, I'm not in."

"No." I shake my head so fiercely that my high ponytail shakes loose. He lifts a strand of my red hair, sifting it through his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine. It's an intimate gesture, and I feel that frustrating need in the pit of my belly. Silently, I curse my body for wanting him so much in spite of everything. "You didn't ask me to leave, you told me to get the f**k out," I whisper.

"Well, I'm sure I wasn't that - "

My voice is five times as strong as before when I say, "You were."

"You know, I misjudged you."

I'm getting sick of Damian's riddles, and we've spent a total of half an hour in one another's company. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"The entire time we were shooting "All Over You", you were very obedient and . . . ah, s**t, let's put it this way, Elena - I didn't expect you to say no to the handcuffs. I expected to have a long, healthy relationship with you, actually"

I'm not sure if he's saying he mistook my being shy and overzealous to do my job as me being easy or submissive. Either way, I know I don't like what he's saying. Because there's a part of me that wonders if he's right - after all, I had gone home with him after knowing him for less than a week.